If You'll Stay In My Past
by remy7marie
Summary: AU Rogan. Their families hate each other, but once they meet, they can't help but be together. Can they overcome what their families expect and demand of them to stay together?
1. Better Be Early, Or Don't Go At All

**chapter one **

She groaned and rolled over at the shrill sound of her alarm. It was six AM. On her first day of school, her senior year, at Chilton Academy. She untangled her legs precariously from the 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and padded across the wooden floors to her adjoined bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, she was showered and dressed in her hemmed uniform skirt and polo with a pair of worn Chucks. She looked tired, worn, as she stared at herself in the mirror. Being a Hayden was hard. She frowned a little, smearing lip gloss on her lips with a finger and smiled a fake smile brightly, too brightly, in the mirror.

"Honey," her mother entered her daughter's room to see her sitting at her white vanity table. "You're going to be late. It's almost 7:30."

Her eyes shot to the clock. She had been sitting there for over an hour. She didn't even remember what she did while she was sitting there.

"Why am I going here again?"

"Rory," Lorelai sighed, "Your father and I both went here. That, and we don't like you being at boarding school. You're too far away. We talked about this."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Though, I should warn you, there's a Huntzberger there. Do not interact. Okay? It's an unspoken rule that Haydens and the Huntzbergers do not interact. You know what'll happen."

"Hell?" she guessed.

"Without any oompa loompas."

"God forbid."

"I know." She pulled her daughter up off the vanity stool and pushed her out her bedroom door, picking up her backpack on the way out. "Now, get going. This is the ninth circle of hell, and the devil doesn't like tardiness."

"How lovely. I'm excited now," she said sarcastically.

"Bye, babe." Rory rolled her eyes at her mother's "concern". It was a well-known fact she didn't like her job as a trophy wife. She gave up a life of freedom because why? She was pregnant at the age of sixteen? Then she shipped her daughter off to boarding school for the first twelve years of her schooling. Needless to say, they didn't have a close relationship.

Rory climbed into her BMW in the garage and carefully backed out of the Hayden mansion driveway.

The outside of Chilton Academy looked exactly like her old high school in Europe, just without the extra dormitories. She sighed heavily as she grabbed her messenger bag from the backseat, hoping the day would get over with soon and she wouldn't run into this Huntzberger.

----------

"Dude," Logan Huntzberger's friend, Tom, punched him lightly on the arm as he sat down at the crowded "popular" lunch table. "Did you see that new girl? Talk about _hot_."

"Like she'd ever go for you," Logan replied.

He laughed, "No, but Katrina's in the bag." He talked about his recent bedmate like a sort of victory. "But seriously, have you seen her? Look, there." He pointed to the cafeteria doors as they pulled open, Rory Hayden walking through shyly.

She had her iPod on, headphones plugged in, and her bag slung haphazardly over her shoulder. The ideal picture of not caring. Logan's gaze lingered longer than necessary on her, almost blinking a few times to clear his head. He had found her, his new conquest.

"Don't even think about it," Tom said. "She's way out of your reach, even for you, Huntzberger."

"No ones out of my reach."

"She is. Believe me."

He watched her sit down at a back table and pull out a book. She turned his direction, almost like she felt him watching her, and she raised an eyebrow. He smirked and gave an acknowledging nod. Her eyes narrowed and she stood back up before walking back out the doors she had just entered.

"We'll see," Logan concluded, ending their conversation.

--------

The final bell rang, and she tried to remember the way to her locker. She stepped into the large hallway and turned each way trying to figure out where she even was. The school was too big for her liking, gave too much homework for her liking, and had too many stuck up rich assholes for her liking.

She had been harassed the whole day for her sudden appearance from boarding school, been dubbed "Mary" by some fuckhead in her AP Chemistry class named Tristan, and had been hit on by more horny teenage boys than she could count, nor care to remember.

It had not been a good day.

She turned the corner, the one she thought maybe was the right way to her locker and ran head-on into something, or someone, more accurately.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," she quickly apologized, bending down to get her books that had fallen.

He had picked up her fallen iPod and handed it to her with a smirk, "No problem."

She gave a small smile and sidestepped him and continued on her way. "Hey," he called. "You're new here, right?"

She nodded, "Yeah."

"I'm Logan Huntzberger."

Her eyes narrowed and face paled, "Because today couldn't get any worse."

"I'm sorry?" He cocked his head to the side.

"I should go," she said.

"Hey, what's your name." It wasn't a request, but a command.

She slowly turned, hoisting her bag on her shoulder and took a deep breath. "Rory Hayden."

"You're-"

"Yep, we're next door neighbors, our families hate each other, just like we're expected to."

He was silent with a quiet anger bubbling behind his eyes. Not anger to her, per se, but his family, her family. _Their_ families. It was only brought up when necessary, only spoken about during heated arguments, used as ammunition against one another.

She took in his visage, chocolate eyes and blonde hair and smiled slightly. He looked like the pictures she had seen from the early years when they were once friends. So long ago, no older than two.

She turned back around, he didn't say anything or call her back, and walked out of school, not even bothering to find her locker.


	2. Capturing the Mood

**A/N: i am so sorry for the wait. more than a month..eek. thank you SO much for the reviews. i didnt expect that much of a response, but thank you. here is the new chapter. i dont have time to edit it that thoroughly so im so sorry for any grammatical errors (i only have five minutes left in my free before schools over). i hope you like it and it was worth the wait. enjoy and review. **

chapter two

"And then he was all romantic, but it seemed like he was trying too hard," Rory's new friend Steph Murdock told her at the lunch table, as Rory picked at her mashed potatoes.

"Maybe he likes you," she responded, looking at her friend.

"No, no, no. That is the best friend of Logan Huntzberger. It would not be cool for him to be associated with me."

"Who the hell does he think he is? Huntzberger doesn't own the school. You can fucking date whoever you want."

"That's not how it works here, Ror."

"And besides," she continued on her rant, "You're from one of the wealthiest families in this school."

"My stepmother's affair put our reputations back a bit."

"It's bullshit, that's what it is."

Logan Huntzberger had become a burden to her in the first week of school. Dodging him between classes, not talking to anyone he was associated with, careful not to be seen by him anywhere. She was at the end of her string with her family, what with her latest stunt in Europe that really got her taken away, and then with her general attitude towards her parents.

"Ladies," Logan himself said as he passed by, bowing slightly with a tilt of an invisible hat. Rory was pretty sure she was glaring, but she felt a small smile pulling at her lips, contradicting the slit-eyes she had.

"You'd hate for your father to hear about this, Logan, wouldn't you?" She taunted.

His face paled and he saw the vibrant personality he had been told of all Gilmore-Hayden women.

Yes, this girl had become a pain in his ass. A welcome one, almost. If she didn't have to do it so smugly. But of course, anyone who knew her said she was an angel. Would never do anything wrong.

He hated her for it.

It was just as well, nothing could ever become of them, even if he wanted something to actually be there. In reality, when they sat next to each other in their AP Calc class eighth block, their shoulders nearly touching from the cramped size of the classroom, it was almost like something was wedged between them. A ghost, a flicker of the imagination that showed them what they should be, what they _will_ be.

Fate. Of course, they were too caught up in their hatred, tangled in webs of deceit to notice the tension.

---------

She walked into the library alone. It was her new fortress, her own little world in this mausoleum of high school conspiracy and conformity. She found her back table, the one that she had chosen on the first day of school as hers. She hadn't seen one person yet in this particular back corner and she wanted to claim it.

As she put her book down to study, a face popped into view. She jumped in her seat and the boy's face was one of indifference.

"Oh, its just you," Logan said nonchalantly. "I was hoping for someone else."

"Well, isn't that welcoming," she said sarcastically.

"You don't like me." He stated it as a fact, smirking, as he took a seat across from her.

"Is there a reason I should?"

"You don't know me."

"No, but I know your family. If you're anything like your father, I'm better off not knowing you."

"I'm nothing like my father," he said bitterly, the hate in his eyes evident.

"I don't know that."

"You'll have to take my word for it."

"Right, trust you, a Huntzberger. You must be out of your mind." Her eyes flickered over his brown ones, seeing the anger simmering behind them from her previous remarks. She simply shifted her gaze to the textbook in front of her.

She heard the chair slide back on the wood floor and him get out of the chair and leave her to her solitude. She looked up to see him look back at her, their eyes meeting before he let the door to the library slam close behind him.

--------

"Rory? Is that you?" Lorelai asked when she walked past the living room that day after school. Rory walked backwards to see her mother. They were most still unaccustomed and uncomfortable with living with each other after all these years of being apart.

"Yeah. I'm home. Obviously."

"So, tell me, have you seen the Hunztberger boy at all?"

"No," she lied quickly, "He must have all different classes than me." Why was she lying for him she asked herself as she turned around, a puzzling look on her face. Her mother's voice caused her to turn back around.

"Right, well, dinner is at seven sharp. Don't be late."

"To the dinner table? I think I can make it in time," Rory replied sarcastically, flipping her brunette hair out of her face and over her shoulder.

Lorelai looked taken aback by her daughter's sudden bluntness.

Rory sighed, "I'm not going to be here for dinner tonight."

"Oh," she said primly, "you could have just said that, Rory."

"I could have." She started towards the stairs.

"So I'm assuming you're going out tonight? After all, it is a Friday and you are my daughter," she said with a smile.

Rory gave her a huge, sarcastic fake smile, "Right! That's where those party genes come from!" Her face fell as she climbed the stairs.

"Be home before dawn," her mother's voice called to her.

Rory slammed her bedroom door closed after she walked inside and dropped her purse and backpack on the floor by her bed, before moving to sit on the window seat.

It was her favorite spot in the house, even better than the library. It looked over the back acreages to one side and on the other was the Huntzberger mansion. At night, you could see the sunset perfectly, something she had learned since she had come home from boarding school. And her window had the perfect view of the infamous Logan Huntzberger's room.

She remembered watching a video from when she and Logan were probably three, though she didn't remember.

_"Mommy!" a three year old Rory Gilmore called, her arms lifted up to show her mother she wanted to be held. _

_Lorelai lifted her into her arms and Shira Huntzberger, Logan's mother walked in, a small boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, Logan, walked in. Rory started wiggling in her mother's grasp and cried "Logan!" and her mother put her down. _

_She had run over to him and he held her hand in the cute way that three year olds do, the time before they believed in cooties and they played in the sandbox until Logan's mother came and got him to take him to dinner. _

She smiled at the memory o the video tape. Her face fell when the man of the hour walked into his room, turning around to yell at a closed door, at his father, no doubt. She had always heard rumors about their tense relationship. She could only assume that they were true.

He went and stood at his window, knowing exactly what he could see from his and was happy to see what he wanted: her sitting at the window seat, staring at the acreage behind both of their houses, a small wooded brush that both of their families both ended.

She turned her gaze to him, and his eyes locked on hers before she got up and walked away from the window, choosing to lay on her bed until Steph called her with the plans for that night.


	3. I Should Not Have Come Back Here

chapter three

An hour later and she still laying on her bed with no call from Steph. She pulled herself up off her bed and cranked open the window above the window seat, wanting to feel the last of the warmer October days, warmer being about sixty degrees.

She didn't bother to stop and look outside the window but turned away, going to a small piano sitting in the corner of the room. Her mother thought she needed to learn at a young age, but found the instrument annoying in itself, and settled with putting it in Rory's large room, which was on the third floor, while her and her husband's was on the second on the other side of the house.

She sat on the bench, idly tapping keys before getting a tune in her head to play. As she played, the sound rang out through the room, bouncing off the walls and outside to the garden.

His window was open, that's what she got for not looking. He had always listened to her play when she came home in the summer, late at night when he was stumbling into his room drunk, the tune would always lure him into a numb sleep. He knew she didn't take lessons anymore and he knew what she knew was limited, but when she played, it was almost like she had a little ounce of grace left and she wasn't the bitter, sarcastic girl he knew her to be at school.

Her playing suddenly stopped and he heard a faint ringing. She grabbed her cell phone off the ground by her bed and checked the called ID.

'Thanks for calling," she said to Steph.

"I'm sorry. Colin, you know, Logan's friend, the one who I liked?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, he asked me out!" she squealed. "So do you want to meet us at this restaurant downtown and then go to a club or something? They know a few where we can get in without them carding us."

A night out with friends, drinking and partying. Just what she needed.

"Yeah, that'd be good. Are you sure you don't mind, interrupting your first date?"

"Oh no, he agreed that we should hang out first and then go on a date later. So we're going to dinner tomorrow."

Rory laughed, "Well, that took long."

Steph laughed with her friend, "Just meet us at Truman's at seven, okay?"

"Sure. I'll be there." She hung up her phone and tossed it on the bed, seeing it was only five o'clock. She sighed and got off the piano bench, and going to take a shower.

--------

He felt like a stalker. He listened to her play her music and now, he could see her with a towel wrapped around her body, thumbing through the clothes in her closet for something to wear that night, completely oblivious to him watching.

He didn't mean to, and he was serious. Her room had been there for forever, and same with his. It became something normal for him. Seeing her working on homework on the window seat, listening to simple songs on the piano, her picking out clothes to wear before she closed the blinds to change, then pulled them back up when she was done. He had seen her climb out that window and down the trellis in her more rebellious years, always wanting to know where she was going.

She could never see him because where he sat was blocked by curtains that she couldn't see past, not that she would want to.

It was hard to believe that they were once best friends.

He jumped as his phone rang, "Huntzberger."

"Why do you answer your phone like that?"

"Colin, what's up?"

"Truman's tonight. Seven. Then a club maybe? I got you a girl."

He laughed at his friend, "A set up? Thanks, Colin, but I'm not quite at that point where I can't get girls."

"Just come and say you were just there with other friends if you don't like her. She's very pretty."

"What's her name?"

"Truman's, seven." Colin hung up before Logan could ask any more questions.

He tossed his phone to the floor and went to stand at the window. He saw Rory's curtains fall closed as she stepped away from where she was watching him.

------------

He walked into the restaurant, fifteen minutes late, of course – who shows up on time on Friday nights anyways these days – and saw Colin's brown hair sticking up from a back booth. He walked over, his hands casually shoved into his jean pockets, smirking at girls that happened to look, or more appropriately, stare at him.

When he reached the booth he almost collapsed to the floor from a mild heart attack. His smirk fell, his face paled, and he stopped walking five steps before he even reached the table.

"Hey, man," Colin said as he stood at a near distance. "The table's not contaminated, you know."

"You sure about that?" he asked, locking gazes with the girl he half hated, half needed to see – Rory Gilmore.

She laughed and shook her head. Steph and Colin sat across from Rory on one side, looking like a sickeningly sweet couple celebrating their ten year anniversary, not their first date, and Rory sat alone on the other side. She was wearing a green jersey cloth top with thin straps that left her shoulders bare and met at the back of the shirt with a cinched collar and jeans that he was sure fit her perfectly.

"Logan, you know Rory, don't you?" she asked, almost shyly, as if she were afraid he would cast her down with lightning by merely talking to him.

"Hey," he said dully, with a small nod of his head in Rory's direction.

She flittered her gaze to cast over his face briefly. "Hey," she replied, just as dully.

"Logan, you going to sit down or should we get you a taller table?" Colin asked.

Logan nodded and slid in next to Rory, who visibly all but plastered herself against the wall to get away from him.

Steph sighed, "See? What is this? You have like, hate vibes just going back and forth here and you kinda need to stop."

"I will if he will," she said glumly.

"She started it."

She stuck her tongue out at him, glaring. "Oh, real mature, Rory. You did that when we were, what, three years old?"

"You both need to shut up!" Colin said, exasperated with their childish behavior.

They both looked at him then back at each other before attacking. "You were the one who had me come here! You knew I hated her!"

"I hate him!"

"You hate me? I hate you!"

"I'm going to scream!" Logan clapped a hand over her mouth before she did. He shook his head.

"Photographers are everywhere," he said, his voice threateningly low.

"Won't they see us anyways," she growled.

"Our families will just love this."

"Well," she said, a smile on her face as she scanned the room. "Might as well give the something good."

He smirked, "I like the way you think."

Steph and Colin looked at each other and shrugged, amazed at the turn of the mood that the conversation had taken.

"But you do know," he said, his voice low again, "They'll have our heads."

She shrugged, "Maybe this time they'll actually come to their senses and end this nonsense." They looked at each other and laughed.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, as smoothly as it can be with two family rivals sitting next to each other. She stole his food, he stole her drink, she hit him, he pulled her hair, while Steph and Colin tried to play the mediators.

--------

"Oh, this place looks cool," Steph said as they walked around downtown Hartford, trying to find a club they hadn't been to before.

"The Jazz Room?" Rory asked. "I'm thinking it's going to be jazz."

Logan snorted, "Good job, Ace." He ducked as she tried to smack him on the head.

"No, the sign says that tonight's open DJ night. What'll it hurt?"

"My eardrums," Rory said.

"Her record of never going into a club," Logan interjected.

It was Rory's turn to snort. "You wish."

They walked inside and their eyes adjusted to the dark hallway that led to a large dance floor crammed with teenagers.

"Well, Steph, I think you found a hangout," Rory said.

"You wanna dance?" Colin asked her. She nodded giddily, and Rory suppressed a laugh at her eagerness.

"And then there were two," Logan said dryly.

"What? No porn star tonight?"

"No, that was last week," he said sarcastically.

"My, my, Hugh Heffner, what a life you lead."

He smiled and she returned the smile. He held out a hand, "Dance?"

She grumbled but put her hand in his and he led them to the floor where a techno beat was pulsing through the walls. Her arms draped around his neck as they swayed, ignoring the head-bobbing teens around them.

Despite their family differences, and even their own differences, this seemed pretty perfect.

-------------

"Lorelai Leigh Hayden! Get down here!" Her mother yelled from the bottom of the stairs. She had stumbled into her room around two that morning and crashed. She looked at the clock, eight o'clock, and cursed her mother.

She stepped out of her room in her boxers and long sleeved shirt and walked downstairs to the kitchen. She hadn't even sat down at the counter when a paper was shoved under her nose. A picture of her and Logan dancing taunted her on the cover.

Her mother was livid. "What the hell is this?"


	4. Made Him Believe He Could Live Again

chapter four (made him believe he could live again)

Rory came downstairs an hour later, showered and dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her mother frowned in distaste. "Can you go put on something nice? We have to go meet the Huntzbergers." You could hear the cringe in her voice. "I don't want my daughter to be looking like trash. They'll be sorry they ever started this fight when they see you married off to someone not their son in five years."

"Excuse me?" She looked at her mother in disbelief.

Lorelai just waved her hand impatiently. "Go, change.

She scoffed and ran upstairs to her room. She pulled a jersey cotton black wrap dress out of her closet and threw it on, tying the small strings at her hip, with a light green camisole underneath, just a little shown where the v-neck fell to her mid-breast. She put on black flats and brushed her hair, not even bothering to finish the rest.

When she came back downstairs, her mother nodded and gave a small noise of approval. "Like I said, we can't have you looking like trash."

"Yes," Rory said sarcastically. "We can't have that."

"Come on, your father is in the car."

"We're driving?" she asked ludicrously. "It's right next door!"

"It's not proper to show up on foot, Rory. Now come on. We have to fix what you did last night."

Rory climbed in the back seat of the Mercedes, looking in the rearview mirror to see her father's face. He was constantly at the office, hardly cared one way or the other what she did. Her mother probably had to force him to come over here, to sit in a room with the Huntzberger, let alone his own, families. But she always knew he loved her. Whether it was picking her up from boarding school (when she was still in this continent, of course) or sitting and silently watching TV with her.

His face was the same as she always saw it. Dull, bored expression on his face, but ready to crack out an argument or witty comment at any moment. She smiled to herself, at least some things would stay the same.

"Christopher," Lorelai said, "don't start by yelling. That will get us nowhere. Rory made a mistake last night and we need to fix it before they get some crazy ideas in their heads, like always."

"You know I'm still in the car, right?" Rory asked.

"And you," her mother said, turning in her seat to look at her daughter, "No sarcastic comments from you. You just sit there and-"

"Look pretty," she finished. "I know."

Lorelai turned back around in her seat for the short drive, and by the time she did so, they were already parked in the driveway.

Rory crossed her arms over her chest as they stood in front of the double doors. She leaned on a pillar while her mother sounded the knocker and waited for them to open the doors.

It must be killing them to meet like this after everything that had happened. Their daughter and son ruining the wall they had built between the families by a simple dance and an idiot photographer trying to get some money for this month's rent.

A maid opened the door and Rory rolled her eyes as she followed her parents inside the Huntzberger mansion. The maid ushered them into the living room where Logan, his parents, Shira and Mitchum, and his grandfather, Elias were all sitting, talking quietly amongst themselves. Well, more Mitchum and Elias talking, Shira listening, and Logan being shot death glares.

Mitchum stood from his seat at the sight of the Hayden family in his living room. He cleared his throat and the others followed suit. "Well."

"Mitchum," Chris said tersely.

"Logan, Rory, please leave us alone to discuss the matter."

Rory threw her hands up lightly and rolled her eyes, earning a glare from her mother and a smile from her father.

Logan pressed a hand into her back to move her into the kitchen before she said anything else to further anger the families.

Logan stood by the counter, pulling a small flask out of his pocket, taking a drink before handing it to her. "Never too early for this," he said, smirking.

"Your daughter is a disgrace to this entire society! Born out of wedlock! An utter disgrace! And the fact she was with _my _son, soiling his image!" The screaming of Shira was all Rory and Logan could hear from the kitchen.

She gave him a tight smile and raised the flask in a toast. "Cheers," she said weakly before taking a long drink.

He leaned against the counter. "Is it always like this?"

She sat at the kitchen table, "Like what?"

"Your parents calling you illegitimate?"

She laughed softly, "No, but it comes up every now and then. Besides, I'm not necessarily illegitimate. I'm just born out of wedlock to my mother at a very young age. Since when is that odd?"

"Apparently for a while."

She looked down at her nails, which were clasped in front of her on the wood table. "You know, this is probably the most civil we've been to each other since I've gotten back."

"Where were you, exactly?"

She smiled, "You mean you didn't follow my every move?" He looked at her pointedly. "Europe, mostly. They tried one in South America but they didn't like me much."

"Why are you back?"

"Supposedly to have me closer to home, but everyone knows that's bullshit. Honestly, I have no clue." She stood up from the table, moving to the swinging door now that the voices had quieted so they could only hear murmurs.

"What are you doing?" he asked, coming up behind her to peek through the crack.

"Listening to what they're saying."

"Why, so they can insult you a little more?"

She turned around to look at him and he held up his hands in surrender. "I'm just saying, all they've said about you is insulting to you."

She put a finger to his lips, quieting him. "Logan, I haven't told you this since we were thirteen years old and I think I miss it." She paused. "Shut up."

He smiled, remembering the summers she was home. They had long since stopped being nice to each other and spent their time bickering and yelling at each other. More often than not, she screamed from her window for him to shut up when he was annoying her.

They crouched by the door, Logan trying to push Rory out of the way so he could hear. She in the end pushed him over and put her ear to the door.

Mitchum was the one talking. "Well, if you hadn't had the need to underhandedly steal the money of my company…"

Chris blanched, "I didn't underhandedly steal your money! I am a financial advisor for your company! That loss of money had nothing to do with me."

"And your daughter is another story." Rory visably rolled her eyes.

"They always come back to that," she murmured. Logan smirked and moved next to her to see the five in the living room.

"That didn't stop the two of them from becoming inseparable when they were younger! You didn't seem to mind her circumstances then!" Christopher yelled, standing up for his daughter.

Logan and Rory quickly looked at each other before, embarrassed, moved apart from where they were sitting shoulder to shoulder in front of the door.

She moved back and sat against the pantry wall. "When did all of this happen?"

"Weren't we six or seven?" he asked.

She nodded, "That sounds right."

They fell silent and avoided looking at each other. Logan, trying to avoid the flesh left uncovered from her dress, the intricate flawlessness of her skin, and those eyes. She, trying not to blush under his scrutiny as he failed to avoid looking at her.

"Well," she started, "it doesn't seem they'll be done for a while, so I'm just going to go home." She pointed to the back door that led to the gardens, and ultimately, the path her and Logan had created to each other's houses when they were young.

"I'll walk you back," he said, standing up from his spot on the floor, brushing off his pants.

"Oh, that's not necessary. I think I know the way back," she said sarcastically.

He shrugged, "I don't want to be here any more than you do." He opened the French door for both of them and allowed her to go first, her dress flowing behind her as a breeze greeted them.

She turned to him as they walked, "Do you think they even got to the topic of the newspaper yet?"

He stared straight ahead, "Give it a few hours." He held a tree branch out of the way so she could duck under as they took the way through the trees to her house.

"Oh," she gasped, "I forgot this was back here." They had come to a black wrought iron gate that led to their "castle" or so they called it when they were five. Their parents had it built for them so their loud yelling wouldn't disturb them and their guests.

She turned to him and smiled, her eyes glistening. "Let's go."

"I'll just stay here and watch."

Her smile faded and she brushed by him back out of the gate. "I should get home."

"Parents expecting you?" he asked sarcastically and she flipped him off.

"Jesus, what did I do this time, Rory?"

"Why do you have to be like this?" she asked, stopping and turning around to look at him.

"Like what?"

"I'm trying to fix our friendship and you're just stepping all over it."

"Why bother? Either way, our parents won't be happy with anything we do."

"So why not let us be happy? If they're going to be upset with whatever we do, we might as well be happy doing it."

"And being my friend makes you happy?" He had a skeptical look on his face that she just wanted to smack off.

She looked up to her house, "Nevermind. I don't know what I was thinking."


	5. You're No One If You're Just One of Them

chapter five

He growled in frustration as he watched her go through the heavy metal fence into her back yard, climbing stone steps to her house. He suddenly remembered why he wasn't friends with her anymore.

She was stubborn. She always had to argue. She was a perfectionist. She never had any fun. Worst of all, she always left him wanting more.

Then again, she must have changed since he last actually talked to her.

These were dangerous emotions she was unconsciously toying with. A guy like him had a set of boundaries, built at a young age, to keep beautiful, smart, perfect girls like her out of his life and safe from the inevitable pain he would cause her, the pain that would be the ruin of her.

He pushed open the gate she had walked in and cursed. It was all intact. The small wooden shed-like tree house that was built between two oak trees. He sighed, feeling like he was trespassing and realized why Rory wouldn't go by herself. It seemed to lose it's memories if you were there by yourself, without the other person you were with.

He then turned around and left, running through Rory's yard and around the back to her window, slowly climbing the trellis. When he knocked on her window she jumped from where she was laying on her bed, reading a book, and rolled her eyes, pushing the window open.

"What?" she asked dully.

"Come with me."

"What?" she repeated.

"Hearing troubles?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you. For all I know, you'll murder me and tell my parents that some aliens took me in their UFO my native home up in space."

"Gee," he said sarcastically, "How did you ever discover my plan?"

She smirked, "I can read you like a book."

He glanced at her bed where a book was propped open, "Speaking of books, what's the choice for today?"

She looked back to her bed, "I Capture the Castle."

"Ironic, giving the circumstances of this conversation."

"You mean the part where you're hanging from my window and I'm sitting on the window seat? How very Romeo and Juliet of us. And hey, we even have the dueling families! How convenient."

"Please come with me," he said again, calmly. She looked at him, her blue eyes shining in the sunlight, meeting with his brown ones.

She sighed, "Meet me downstairs." He gave her a face before hoisting himself through the window. She turned and looked at him.

"What? You think I was going to climb back down that sucker? I don't think so. God knows how you used to sneak out using that thing."

She stopped, "What did you just say?"

He realized his mistake of telling her what he's seen. She was looking at him accusingly. "I saw you once, sneaking out."

"Obviously." She smirked, "You spy on me through the window."

"No…"

"Oh, don't try to deny it. I've seen you since we were twelve when I came home from Switzerland over Christmas."

He turned away to keep walking and she smiled, walking behind him to wrap her arms around neck, her hands smoothing over his chest.

She laughed, "I want a piggy back ride to wherever we're going."

"And here I thought you were going to apologize?"

"For being honest, never!"

He braced himself for her weight, which wasn't much, almost like lifting a paperclip, and she jumped up, and he tucked his hands under her thighs to hold her so she didn't fall over. "Now, where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll see." She rested her head on his shoulder as they walked through her back yard back down to where they were between their two houses less than an hour ago.

He stopped and let go of her legs, causing them to drop and she stood next to him, in front of the gate. He unconsciously took her hand and pulled her toward the tree house.

"This is where were going?" she asked, exasperated. "You didn't want to look at it before."

"Well," he said calmly, "I changed my mind."

"And whatever the boy wants, the boy gets." He shot her a look and she smiled innocently.

She moved to the rope ladder to climb up and on the first rung looked back down at the ground. "Stop looking up my dress, Huntzberger."

He smirked, "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Bullshit."

He laughed and followed her after she made it to the top, sitting down at the landing. She crawled over to the little room that had doorways, but no doors, window holes, but no windows, and pushed open a large built in box, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of alcohol.

"Holding out on me?" he asked, craning his neck to watch her take out the prized possessions.

She handed the bottle to him and he opened it, taking a drink from the bottle, and she flipped the lid to the cigarettes, lighting one, and raised it to her lips. He watched her exhale the smoke, and though he would never tell her, when she smoked, she could probably convince the health organizations it was actually good for you.

She handed the cigarette to him and took the bottle from him.

"I don't think we did this when we were six," he said.

"No, I come out here every now and then when things are bad. I'm a stress smoker, and Mommy Dearest doesn't like it. And imagine my surprise when I go to put my smokes in there and sitting inside the box is a bottle of gin. Dear Logie, who could that have been?"

He smirked at her use of the nickname the rich bimbos he went out with called him. "I'll admit, that was me."

"How much longer do you think they'll be in there?" she asked, looking towards the Huntzberger house where the families were still convened.

"God knows."

She picked at her nails before taking the cigarette back from him. "What happened?"

"With us or with them?"

"With them. I already know what happened to us." He cocked his head in confusion.

"What happened to us?"

She shrugged, "Typical story. We grow up, ones not cool enough to be seen with the other, insults go flying, and then we end up smoking and drinking in the old tree house." She ended with a smile.

"Is there a happily ever after to this story?"

She tilted her head to the side in thought, cigarette still raised to her lips. She shook her head as she exhaled.

He changed the subject quickly. "I've only heard a little bit of what happened there."

She flicked the cigarette to the ground from their perch in the tree. "Tell me," she insisted.

"It's stupid. Your dad was the financial advisor for my dad and suddenly some money went missing and your dad was accused of taking it, and your dad never forgave my dad for the accusation."

She laughed, "That's retarded."

"Tell me about it." He reached into his pocket as his phone rang and she shook her head, taking out another cigarette.

"Hello?" he asked as he took the cigarette from her fingers, throwing it to the ground, shaking is head, mouthing 'no'.

In return, she took the cell phone from his hand and snapped it shut. "No. I don't get to smoke, you don't get to have sex with random girls."

"Guilty pleasures are a bitch anyways."

"You can't tell me it's actually fun to do that every night."

They moved closer and closer to each other as they spoke. "What am I supposed to do to rebel against my parents?"

Her nose brushed his cheek and his eyes closed at her aphrodisiac, intoxicating smell.

"Stay with me."


	6. You Had So Much Promise Then

chapter six

She didn't know if it was the alcohol or the cigarettes, or the fact that they had been here all day, sitting against the walls of the tree house, trading stories back and forth, volleying insults, her laughter occasionally bouncing off the wood, while he smiled at her antics. The next thing she knew she was pressed against the wall, her legs spread while he was kneeling between them, his hands caressing her face.

She looked up at him from under her eyelashes, blue eyes glittering, with what, he couldn't tell. She smiled at him softly as she arched up to brush her lips across his. They both ignored the sparks they felt as she fisted his shirt in her hand and wrapped her other hand around the nape of his neck, her fingers playing with the small hairs. His hands were braced on either side of her hips as she pulled him closer by his shirt.

He didn't even know what had spurred him to move towards her, let alone kiss her. It had to be the alcohol. Not her laugh, or her smile, or her twinkling, mischievous eyes, nor her dress that was pulled less than modestly up her thighs due to her position on the floor. All he knew was that now he was kissing this girl that he hadn't seen up close for over ten years, only glimpsed from her bedroom, and he was, no, not possible. There was no way he could be enjoying this.

She sighed as his lips moved over hers, his movements obviously perfected by much practice. Her rational thought was at the moment, MIA, and she couldn't even register logically what was going on. Until his hand began moving up her thigh, not forcing her to do anything, but just enough to tell her who he was and what kind of girls he was used to.

She shoved him away forcefully, making him tumble backwards on his butt. "They'll be expecting me," she said breathlessly, looking towards her house from the perch, squinting to see through the dusk.

She gathered her shoes threw the half empty bottle and the empty box of cigarettes in the box and closed the lid with a snap before dropping her shoes over the edge of the tree house to ground to climb down. She quickly climbed down the ladder and ran to her house, leaving him behind.

He didn't even know she was gone until he heard the squeak of the gate to her back yard.

--------

Over the next few weeks, they went to school, the usual. They were becoming friends, and no one was more surprised then themselves. They were reminded every morning to watch out for one another, to avoid contact with the other.

By the time they realized what had happened, they were best friends with one another again. They didn't talk about the tree house ever. That didn't stop the two, however, from climbing up there every night to hang out. They told their parents they were out with friends, assuming their parents even cared, not bothering to tell them that they were really only in the back yard.

Now, they were sitting at a patio table at some Chilton girl's party, the iron diamond shapes from the rocking chair she was in indenting her shoulders from the white tank top she wore.

"Oh, Logan's bedmate tonight, two o'clock," she joked. It was an ongoing thing between the two, try and find that night's company. Ironically enough, they usually ended up with each other in the tree house.

He turned and grimaced at the sight of a girl, who had to be in her twenties, trying to smirk at him seductively. She was in a tight red tank top dress that was nearly plastered to her body. "Nice one, Hayden. I see yours; turn left."

She moved her head unnoticeably, shifting her gaze to an overweight chess player, who had set up the game right out on the patio of the party. "Hmm, maybe," she said and he looked at her incredulously. "Mine was better," she said, referring to the girl she had picked for him.

"As always," he mumbled.

"Don't be a poor sport, Huntzberger. It's not good for your complexion and we all know how you value that."

"I do not!"

"Please, you spend more time getting ready in the morning than I do. I see that as a problem."

_Because you're already naturally beautiful_, he thought. _Wait, hold the phone. What the hell did I just say? Did I say that out loud? Holy shit. Did I? I don't remember. I don't think I did. _

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, her hand on his arm. He came to the conclusion that he must not have said it out loud, thankfully.

He looked at her quickly before regaining his composure. "Yeah, fine. Let's get out of here."

"I concur," she said, standing up. She smoothed her hands over the denim mini skirt she had and grabbed her cardigan from the spot on the chair where she had taken it off. He held her elbow as she reached down to pull back on her Chucks, and finally, they could leave.

"Geez, do you need to fix your hair, too?" he asked.

"No, princess, we can leave now," she said sarcastically. She then stopped, her eyes fixed in horror at his hair. "But, oh my God, you have a stray hair."

"You think you're real funny, don't you?" he asked, pulling her along behind him as they weaved through the crowd.

"I like to think so," she said.

Back at the party, in a corner, Steph and Colin looked at each other after seeing the exchange between the two. They didn't know their history, only that their families hated each other.

This was a whole new spin on things.

--------

She climbed in to the front seat of his Jaguar, still grumbling at the guy who tried to grab her and take her back into the party for a little "more fun", or so he called it. She didn't know how much fun that would have been.

Logan had gone off before this happened, telling her to stay there, I'll be right back; he had to go talk to some guy about something or another. So there she was, sitting on the cement steps of the porch when some guy, she didn't catch his name, came up to her, popping her personal bubble and making her feel entirely too uncomfortable.

Between his hand was sliding up her bare thigh and her shirking away in discomfort, the guy was suddenly on the grass beside the steps, and Rory was being pulled to her feet quickly.

"What the hell were you doing? I leave for a minute and you're practically getting raped by some football player? Are you incapable of taking care of yourself?"

She covered her ears to block out his yelling. When he stopped, she crossed her arms over her chest protectively. He tried to console her, apologize, his hands wrapped around her forearms carefully, as if he were afraid she would shatter at the slightest of touches. She merely pulled away and started walking to his car, mumbling under her breath.

The car was silent. "I'm driving next time," was all she said, and it was right when he started the engine. And so, they drove home in silence.

She didn't say a word to him getting out or otherwise. "Rory, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

"Bye," she said firmly, slamming the door closed behind her.

He dropped her off a block away from her house, as usual, and watched to make sure she got in okay. Once she went in through the front door into the black, dark house, he sighed, putting the car into gear and driving the two blocks to his house.

---------

"Logan Huntzberger!"

He pulled a pillow up over his ears to block out the yelling of his father. Nothing like a Saturday morning, five AM wake up call like your father screaming his lungs out.

"Get down here, NOW!"

He pulled on a t-shirt and sweatpants before walking downstairs. He figured this must have been what Rory felt like when her mother was yelling at her, or so she had explained. The feeling of "oh, shit" becoming all too familiar to both of them.

"What?" he growled to his father.

"Don't talk to me like that! You got in a fight with Robert Carnegie?

Logan rolled his eyes, "It wasnt a fight. I punched him and left. A fight requires the other to actually hit back."

"I don't give a shit what happened, Logan. You got into a fight over _her_?"

"Don't talk about her like that."

"I'll talk about her however I please. She's nothing, Logan. Unless a slut is something you really want add to her name. She won't be anything. Leave it alone, or so help me, you will be cut off from everything you know."

"Threatening me, Father?"

"Promising you."

"This must be the first one, at least, the first one you'll actually follow through on. But I must ask, what about your precious newspapers? Going to find some poor illegitimate child to take over? You need me, whether you like it or not. So I'll do whatever I damn well please, with her or not."

He walked out the backdoor, bare feet and all, through the brush to her gate, slowly and quietly opening it. It was barely light out, it was, after all, just after five. He climbed up the trellis carefully, knocking softly on her window.

She sat up slowly, a little disoriented, before looking to the window. He saw her jump and put a hand to her heart; he obviously scared her shitless. She pushed back the covers of her queen sized bed, slid out of bed, and pushed open the window.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey," she responded. "Fight over?"

"Fight over. Can I crash here?"

She pushed the window open further to allow him to come in, shutting it behind him. She tossed him a pillow and a blanket from her bed, climbing back in it while he got comfortable on the floor.

He would explain it in the morning, if her parents didn't find and kill him first.


	7. Please Don't Look At Me Like That

Five hours later, she managed to stumble out of bed, narrowly missing stepping on his head where he was sprawled on the floor. Cursing – at the thought of not hitting him or nearly hitting him, she didn't know – and moved to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

He heard her moving around in the bathroom and began to wake up, standing next to the frame, leaning on the door jamb. She saw his reflection in the mirror and raised her eyebrows at him, her mouth full of toothpaste. She spit it out quickly and turned to face him, grabbing a sweatshirt from the hook on the back of the door to cover herself in her tank top, and let her gaze dart back to him.

"You need to leave."

"I'll die if I go home. They'll kill me," he said with a face of mock seriousness.

"We can only hope," she grumbled.

"Now how would you feel if I died and this is how you acted to me in our last moments together?"

"Much better. And hey, I'd sleep through the night. Always an added bonus."

"Cute," he said.

She smiled at him and brushed by. "Seriously, you need to go. It's almost noon. If they find you here, it's my ass."

"Let me make it up to you. Meet me at the tree house in an hour," he said, walking to the window where she followed. She opened it for him, turning to her door at the sound of her mother's voice outside of it.

"Rory, are you up?"

She pushed him out the window faster than he was climbing. "Go! Uh, hold on, Mom, I'm changing. Logan, go!" Her voice dropped as the door began to open.

"One hour. Don't be late, or it will be your ass."

"Go!" She turned around quickly, pulling her window shut. "Was that someone's voice?"

"Oh, no, I just uh, turned off my stereo." She lied quickly, though she knew her mother wouldn't notice, let alone care, about the truth. "The last song on the CD so it turned off."

"Right. You're father and I are going into New York for the weekend."

Of course, she thought. It was Saturday morning. They'd come dragging themselves into bed Tuesday at dawn. Thank God for small favors. She didn't realize she had tuned her mother out oh-so-rudely.

"Did you hear me?" her mother asked impatiently.

"No."

"I swear, sometimes…I asked if you wanted to come with."

She laughed, moving to the bathroom. "No."

"Are you this mean purposely? Do you have some sort of sick pleasure in being a complete bitch to your mother?"

"You taught me how," she said, closing the bathroom door on her mother, sitting down on the toilet.

She turned on the showerhead and lifted her shirt over her head and stripped down to climb in the shower. She didn't want to go to New York with her parents, she didn't want to go see Logan in less than an hour. She just wanted to go to sleep for the weekend and not even get up for anything.

So that's what she did. She got out of the shower, put on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and climbed back into bed, leaving all the bedding that Logan had left on the floor there, snuggling under her down comforter, not calling Logan to tell him she wouldn't be there and not bothering to wake up when her mother came to tell her that she and her father were leaving.

--------

He had waited for her for about thirty minutes. He had gone straight home from her house after he climbed out the window, narrowly missing his mother, who had been on her way to the country club for Saturday lunch with the ladies. She would have yelled at him as much as his father did, just to show her husband that yes, she could be strict and disciplinary, thought it wouldn't affect either of them as much as she would want.

So, imagine his surprise when she wasn't at the tree house an hour later. Wasn't it true Rory fashion to be more than ten minutes early just to make sure she had the right time? Then he realized she wasn't coming, not at all.

So he took off for her house. Maybe she wasn't home, or she forgot, or hell, was passed out on the floor. Like he could really know. But if he knew her, it was probably that she didn't want to go, overwhelmed with parents and obligations to make and stupid, stupid society expectations.

Since he didn't know where her parents were, he was left no other choice but to climb back up the trellis that he had just descended less than two hours ago. He grumbled internally about the way his life was going – all of this…for a girl?

He pushed the window open and his face fell. She was…asleep? She was curled up on one side of her bed, covers wrapped around her body. He climbed through the window and moved to the bed and lay down, reclining back, his arms moving to cradle his head, his feet propped up on the end of the bed.

"You know," he said, "Some people use Saturdays as being productive."

"I am being productive," she mumbled. "Go away."

"You didn't meet me."

"I was tired, and I still am hungover."

"Well, then, I guess I'll have to just take you out now. Come on, get dressed."

"Go away," she repeated, burrowing down in her covers.

He smirked, "You know you want to come with me."

"No, I really don't. I do, however, want to push you out the window. Please go."

"Can I just stay here?"

"If you're very quiet, don't move, don't talk, just sit there, and let me sleep."

"That's a little harsh…and strict, and restrictive."

"Yes, well, it is my house and my parents aren't home, so technically, I'm in charge."

Why wouldn't he just go away? She wanted to sleep, couldn't he see that? It should have been obvious: here she was, in her bed, sleeping, when he decides to come and wake her up.

"Your parents left you here?" he asked, his eyebrows arched.

"They went to New York 'til Tuesday," she said tiredly, distractedly.

"And they just leave you here by yourself? An eighteen year old girl in a house by herself where there are so many people who just want to come kill you because of your last name?"

"Wow, thanks, Logan. That was really…helpful. I feel so much better now," she said sarcastically, rolling over to face him.

"I'm serious! Don't they know that's dangerous?"

"Your parents do it all the time! I hardly think it's uncommon."

"It's different for me."

"Look, I don't care, really. I'm glad they're gone. They can't bother me now. Can you just let me sleep and tonight, for dinner or something, I promise you can take me out somewhere?"

He looked down at her, already dozing off again. He brushed hair away from her face and she molded to his touch. "Sure. I'll be back later tonight."

"You can use the front door," she said flatly.

He laughed, "Okay."

He had just made it to the window when she called out to him. "Logan?"

"Yeah."

"Um, I lied. I really don't like being home alone. Will you…stay with me?"

He was wrenched back to his memories, that day in the tree house. Those three words are always bringing him back to her. Damn her, and her insistence to not be alone, but her desire to.

He smirked to himself, walking back to her bed. He toed off his shoes and took off his jacket, climbing into the bed next to her.

And this was how his Saturday was spent. He was already back in bed by two o'clock in the afternoon with a girl next to him, that unlike his usual bed partners, he knew and cared for.

A girl whose parents couldn't be bothered to take care of her, and he took it upon himself to do so. Yes, the boy who shirked all responsibility had made it his job, and his alone, no one else's – not Robert Carnegie's or anyone's – job to care for her.

What had he done?


	8. I'm Not As Strong As I Appear To Be

"Who took these?" he said, peering closer at the framed black and white photographs. They were all over her walls. There was one of her, in a spaghetti strapped sundress, standing at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower, laughing. There was one of another girl, jumping off of a swing, stopped in mid-air. Rows of pictures in small black frames.

She came out of the bathroom, her head tilted so she could put in an earring.

"I did. Well, most of them."

"Seriously?"

She came and stood next to him, looking up. "Yeah. In boarding school, we needed Fine Arts credits, and I chose photography, and I loved it. Granted, I have to develop my pictures in the bathroom, it's a lot of fun."

"These are amazing," he said, pointing to the row of shots looking up the sides of buildings from the ant eye view.

She blushed, looking down. "It's nothing. Besides, I don't do it anymore."

He turned to look at her, "No?"

"No."

She went to her closet to pull out a pair of shoes so they could leave. It was seven; they had slept for over five hours. He had nearly dragged her out of bed, and even then, she had put up a fight.

"Remind me to never let you drink again," he had told her. "You are the worst hung over person I have ever known."

"Why don't you do it?" His voice snapped her back to reality.

"Oh, you know, this and that." She pulled a hand through her wavy hair.

He crossed his arms over his chest, turning to look at her. "No, I don't know. If you love something like this, why stop?"

She motioned her hands in front her frantically, silently willing herself to keep her cool. His face was a mirror of the disappointment she had seen so many times in her parents.

"I don't need this from you. Can we just not talk about it? Can't we just leave?" She pulled a jacket over her tee shirt and grabbed her purse. "Please?" she pleaded.

He opened her bedroom door and motioned for her to exit the room.

The car ride to wherever they were going – he hadn't told her – was unbearable. He was silent, angry at her for whatever she had, or hadn't, done. She was tired, exhausted of people's disappointment. Did it ever stop? It was so consistent, so _there_. It pressured her, suffocating, a ceiling closing on her.

"Logan…"

"What?" he snapped and she recoiled.

"Never mind," she said softly, resting her cheek on the window, the cold penetrating through her skin. She kneaded her hands in her lap, desperately thinking of something to say. It had never been this silent, this awkward, this empty before. Usually there's an air of lightness, a casual sarcastic banter going back and forth. A feeling of lust and desire between the two, though never acted upon. Except once, she thought bitterly.

"I," she started, and he turned to her expectantly. "I don't do it anymore because…when I told my parent's I wanted to be a photographer, not a writer or a lawyer, do you know what they said?"

He was scared to know the answer. The mere idea of someone depleting her dreams, of minimizing them to ashes was enough to piss him off.

She continued without a beat. "They told me to get over it. Hayden's don't become photographers. My mother laughed. They said they wouldn't support me when I ended up on the street with no money. They said it was 'poor man's job'. That it would never satisfy me. I'm going to prove them wrong, but while I'm here, I just don't take pictures around people."

She picked up her purse from the floor of the car, and he watched her out of the corner of his eyes. She turned it upside down and he began to protest, when he saw what she was actually dumping out. Canisters and canisters of film.

"When my parent's go out of town, I spend the weekend developing pictures," she said, with a smile on her face. "Happy?"

He chuckled. "At least you're going to keep doing it."

She nodded, dropping the little black cans back into her purse. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Can I stop you?"

She felt obligated to shoot him a look. "Well, two questions. One, where the hell are we going?"

"Well, Ror, when somebody wants to go somewhere, they usually drive to get there. We happen to be going to get food."

"Where?"

"I don't know, first place I see that we haven't been to. Second question?"

Her voice fell, "Why'd you kiss me in the tree house?"

The wheel jerked and he turned to look at her. "Why'd you stay with me? Why did you care so much when I stopped taking pictures? Why are you hanging out with me?"

"…That's more than one question."

"Logan, I'm serious!" She didn't notice that they had pulled into a parking lot of an old café, old being from the 1950s.

He cut off her protests and yelling with a searing kiss, making her glad she was sitting because her knees would surely have buckled beneath her. She felt like she was simply going to melt into the upholstery, whether from shock or bliss, she didn't know.

His fingertips traced her jaw and she moved toward him on impulse, trying to maneuver over the counsel of his tiny car.

"Logan," she managed to murmur against his lips.

"No talking," he said, as she moved to his lap.

"You need a bigger car. A two-seater Mercedes won't work for more escapades like this."

He smirked, "More?"

She gave him a devilish smile, flipping her brown locks over her shoulder before opening his door and climbing out, "If you get a bigger car."

He hopped out after her, his arm wrapping around her waist. "Is that an ultimatum?"

She smiled up at him, an innocent look on her face, "No?"

"As in you don't know."

"As in we can always take my car next time."

--------------

She buckled herself back into his car after their long, delicious dinner. She ran her hands over her stomach. "Oh, God, I ate too much."

He glanced over at her, "I think that's the first and only time I'll ever hear you say that. Should I take a picture of this moment."

"Shut up and take me home."

"Yes, ma'am."

He pulled up to her mansion, through the gate and up to the circular drive, getting out before opening her door. "Always the gentleman," she said teasingly.

"Of course."

"Thanks for dinner. And for staying with me. Goodnight, Logan." She kissed his cheek and walked to her door.

She turned around and ran back to him, giving him what was meant to be a quick kiss on the lips. His hands clutched at her waist, their noses brushing. Her hands cupped his cheeks, her hands cold to his skin.

"Goodnight."

----------

He didn't know what had come over him. When he had dropped her off and gone home, he was filled with some sort of courage, of bravery.

His father had been sitting in his study and Logan had knocked on his door, letting Mitchum Huntzberger that his son wanted to talk.

"Dad," he said, "can I talk to you?"

"Logan," his father sighed, "I'm busy."

"It'll be quick, I promise."

"You have," he checked his watch, "two minutes."

Logan walked to his father's desk, leaning on the plush arm chairs in front of the large, paper-covered mahogany desk. "I don't want to be the owner of Huntzberger Media."

His father laughed. "You aren't."

"But I will be, and I don't want to. I want to write, yes, but for me, on my own terms. Not for you and a bunch of crackpot journalists who are only concerned with the latest Hollywood gossip."

"Are you done yet? This tantrum will pass. You know that this is what you're going to do. You will be the heir to my company, you will take over, Logan. Or else you'll forfeit the rest of your inheritance and anything I would leave you, assuming I die anytime soon. Your spot will be waiting for you, Logan. You can't get away from it unless you go empty-handed."

"Who are you kidding, Dad? Selfish bastards don't leave anything for anybody. Except debt, pain, and knowing that their father's didn't love them at all. Well, too bad. I'm going to be leaving come next year, leaving this, this-this," he searched for words, "hellhole, and you. Leaving you here to scramble to find someone to take over who won't embezzle or use you for all you're worth."

His father looked at him through his glasses. "Don't be foolish, Logan. It's this girl you've been talking to. She's trying to do this to you. Make you turn on your family so her family can come and take it all from us! Don't you see?!"

"Leave her out of this, Dad!" his voice rising.

"You'll see in time, Logan. She's just a little whore who wants nothing more but to add a few more dollars to her inheritance fund. You'll come around. Writing for fun," he laughed. "That's not possible. Not for anyone in my family."

He walked slowly to her house. For the first time, he told someone what he wanted to do with his life, and what happened? They laughed at him. He hated his father, he hated his family.

He climbed up the trellis carefully for what seemed like the millionth time. She was awake, labeling her canisters of film in the lamp-lit room. She smiled when she saw him, setting the pile of film on her desk and opening the window.

"Just couldn't wait to see me?" she asked.

She looked at him, his defeated face and she brushed the back of her hand along his cheek. "Logan, you're freezing."

"It's cold," he said dumbly. She took his cold hands in hers and pulled him to her bed, sitting him down.

"What is wrong? What happened?"

"I told him I didn't want to work for him. I just…I called him a bastard and that I was going to leave him to find someone else to work for him after I graduate. He laughed and told me I could never write for myself, never be anyone without him."

He was somewhat incoherent, but she understood. He knew she would, as cheesy as that sounds. She pulled him to her, running her hands through his hair.

"He said that you were doing this to me, that you wanted me to leave them and let your family take over."

"Oh, baby," she said, smoothing her hand over his cheek. "You know that isn't true."

"He called you a whore. And I called him a bastard."

"Logan," she started.

"No!" he exclaimed loudly. "No one will talk about you like that!"

She sighed, "It's nothing I haven't heard before."

"But not because of me. And you know it's not true. God, I hate him."

She pulled him back to her, resting his head in the crook of her neck. "I know."

"Why does he hate me?"

She ran her fingers through his hair again. "He doesn't hate you, Logan."

"He does, I'm sure of it."

"Come on," she said, getting up and climbing up farther on the bed. "Let's go to sleep. We'll finish this in the morning."

He let her pull his hand with her, so he was laying next to her in her queen sized bed.

"I don't like people talking about you like that," he said, the last thing he said before he fell asleep, his arms wrapped around her.


	9. Will You Suffer A Little With Me?

**A/N: thanks for all the reviews. uh, for this chapter, imagine rory's costume as claire danes costume for the ball in the 1996 baz luhrmann's romeo and juliet. because thats what i took it from. :-) enjoy and review. **

"Logan, you have to go. It's my family's annual costume ball tonight. If they see you here, you'll be used as a centerpiece. For multiple tables." Her voice was frantic, nearly shoving him down the trellis.

It was a week after his argument with his father. They had woken that morning, and she consoled him, her voice soothing to his ears. He had felt better after he had slept, though he couldn't believe he had been so rash as to go to his father as he did.

Her parents had come home the following Tuesday, as she predicted, and everything returned to normal. Her mother went about like a wild chicken trying to finalize the plans of their famous masquerade ball.

Rory pressed something into his hand as he moved down the trellis. "This will get you, Colin and Finn in." She looked back to her door to make sure no one was coming. "Wear a mask or you'll ruin everything."

"Dramatic much, Ror?" He held the paper in his hand and looked at it. The engraved calligraphy, black cursive writing.

"I'm serious, Logan. You might not think it's that big of a deal, and if you don't want to come than don't. If you are going to be an ass about it, don't come."

He looked up at her, his face serious. He knew that socialite's sons would be lining up to dance with her, he knew how important this whole extravagant event was. "I'll be there. In a mask." He reached up to kiss her quickly and she pushed him down.

"Go! It starts in an hour." He climbed down and jumped the last few feet to the ground and she closed her window quickly.

Her mother came in quickly, already in her Marie Antoinette costume, complete with corset and wig. "You haven't even showered, yet? You do know that people will be arriving in an hour?"

"I've been busy," she said flatly.

Lorelai pursed her lips. "What are you going as?"

Rory pointed to her bathroom door where a hanger was draped over the ledge. A long white dress, with thick straps and bare shoulders, an empire waist dangled from the plastic. On an arm chair lay a pair of large white, glittery wings.

"An angel?" she asked disdainfully.

"I couldn't think of anything, but it's better than being the biggest slut of the eighteenth century with fake hair, right?"

She ignored her daughter's sarcasm. "Just make sure to do your hair or something."

"Can't I just borrow yours?"

She sighed at her daughter's lack of cooperation and rudeness. "Be ready in an hour."

Rory rolled her eyes and watched her mother waddle out of the room. She slammed the bathroom door shut and sighed, turning on the water. She climbed in the shower, dreading the night ahead of her. She tried to count just how many things could possibly go wrong, which, by her count, was a lot. More than a lot.

She got out of the shower and put on her bathrobe, now, more than dreading the night to come. More like extreme fear and loathing to her parent's insistence of a formal, costume ball.

She pull on her undergarments and pulled her dress over her head, the fabric falling to the floor in thin layers, making her look gorgeous, but simple. She moved back to her bathroom to do her hair, blow drying it straight and wrapping strands to be in a halo type braid, while the rest fell down her back.

She checked the time, and realized it was almost eight already. Time always went faster when you wanted it to stop completely. She pulled on her wings and didn't even put on any makeup, leaving her skin natural. She slipped on white flip flops that wouldn't even be shown from her dress.

Why did they insist on having this party so close to winter?

She pulled open her door, walking down the long hallway to the grand staircase. There, guests were already gathered, holding flutes of champagne and talking among each other. She could only imagine what they were saying. False things, fake smiles, none of it was true. Not a word, not a single glance, not a smile.

She processed down the stairs, ignoring the eyes that were on her, mainly from boys her age who were looking for something that she most definitely wasn't offering.

Her eyes locked on the familiar brown that only she knew so well and she smiled, ducking her head shyly at nearing him.

How convenient, she thought, glancing at his costume. A wilted version of Romeo, or so it would seem. A pair of, was he wearing tights? She laughed softly and his eyes narrowed and he knew exactly what she was laughing at.

He walked forward to take his arm before anyone else could. "Is that the thanks I get for saving you from hundreds of blood-thirsty hormonal boys? Not to mention, entering the lion's den, your house, to do this?"

She put on a face of mock pity, "Forgive me, kind sir," giving a curtsy. "Sorry, it only seemed appropriate." She laughed. "I can't believe you're in tights."

"I thought angels were supposed to be nice. You look beautiful, by the way." She blushed, lowering her head shyly.

Her face fell as she watched her mother come neared, pulling a young man behind her. "Rory! There's someone I want you to meet!"

Rory grabbed Logan's hand quickly, "Come on." She ran, pulling him along with her, back through the kitchen, her dress trailing behind her.

"So," he said, when they finally stopped, "So, it has begun. The auctioning of the precious Rory Hayden."

She shoved his shoulder. She turned when she heard other voices behind her, smiling when she saw Steph, Colin and Finn all bound through the kitchen.

"See, I told you she'd be here. And him, of course. I'm surprised they haven't killed each other yet," Steph was saying to Colin, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

"Hey, man," Colin said, clapping Logan on the shoulder. "I called your phone and you didn't pick up. So I just called your house but no one answered there, either. You're like a fricken ghost."

Logan shrugged, watching as Rory pulled a bag of chips out of the pantry. "These are really good," she said, her voice muffled and mouth full of chips.

He laughed, "I'll take your word for it."

They all turned to the direction of the foyer where there was a commotion.

"I'm telling you," a voice bellowed, "he's here. I will not stand for him to be with that-that whore anymore!"

"Who is here?" Rory heard her mother's timid voice ask.

"Logan."

Lorelai laughed a shrill laugh. "I think we would know if he's here. Now, please leave. You're disrupting our party."

"He's here!"

"The hell he is!" Christopher yelled. "Get out!"

Mitchum pointed in the direction of the kitchen where the teens could be seen. "There. There he is." He sneered at his son. "Next time, don't have your friends leave messages on your phone about the Hayden's parties."


	10. Comfortable, and So Broken In

(comfortable and so broken in)

"Uh," Colin stuttered, starting slowly as Steph shook her head, almost laughing. Rory also bit back a laugh.

"Scary," Finn said, tossing back a chip.

Logan rolled his eyes at his father's drama.

"Rory!" Lorelai screeched. "You let him in?"

She looked at her mother blankly. "I gave him an invitation."

"I want you all out of my house," Christopher demanded, talking to Finn, Colin, and Logan . "And you," he said, pointing to his daughter, "I'll deal with you later."

"No," she said quickly. "Deal with me now." This wasn't her father. He was usually calm – but this, this was unexpected. She had never actually seen him like this, and truth be told, she was almost scared.

"You think I'm going to let you make a fool of me in my own house? At my own party?" he said, his eyes narrow slits and teeth bared, slightly resembling a ravage dog.

"Christopher," Lorelai said, her hand placed soothingly on his arm, but he shrugged it off.

"I won't let you; you are not to see this boy again," he said with quick strides into the kitchen where they were, causing all the teens to jump back, sans Rory.

"You can't tell me that. You can't make me!" she yelled loudly.

He pushed her against the counter by her forearms, her head jerking back with the force; her hair wrapped as a halo coming unwoven and tumbling down. "You won't!" he yelled, seeing past her tear-brimmed eyes.

Everyone stood in shock; they had never seen anything like this. The usually calm father and semi-obedient daughter in a fight, especially like this. The father using his authority against her, especially in public was something they had not witnessed.

Lorelai stood useless to the side and the Huntzbergers watched in almost pity for the girl. And Logan, well, needless to say he was pissed. He shoved Christopher off of Rory, his sudden movement surprising the older man into letting go and grabbed her hand gently, pulling her behind him out the back door quickly.

They were out on her back porch within seconds, Colin, Finn and Steph staying to keep anyone from following them, not that anyone would have been eager to follow after that scene. He stopped suddenly and she nearly ran into him, placing her hands up to stop.

He smoothed his hand down her cheek, pushing her hair out of her face. "Are you okay? You're okay?" he asked.

She nodded, a small smile on her face at his concern. "I'm fine." She didn't mention that her arms were sore; it was something trivial.

"Come on, we'll stay at my house tonight."

She pulled his hand back from where he had starting walking, causing him to turn and look at her. "Logan, no! No, your parents already hate me, this is just the icing on the cake. I can just stay in the tree house. I can climb back into my room and get a blanket or whatever. It'll be fine."

"Rory, no. I'm not letting you sleep in the treehouse. There's not even a door."

She pouted, "But I like the treehouse. And your parents aren't there."

"They won't even see you."

"Wow, thanks. I feel so much better." They had started walking and he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her as they wandered through the more recently beaten down path.

---------

They did something new when they got to his house – walked through the front door. It was never really an option when they would go to Rory's house, but here, he seemed pretty sure that there wasn't a problem with it.

That didn't mean that she didn't feel uncomfortable doing it.

They walked up a winding staircase, Rory looking about the house, both out of awe and to see if she would see the elder Huntzbergers roaming around.

She followed him down a long hallway, empty, except for a few large paintings and an antique table set stylishly against one of the walls. She hadn't been in this house since her age consisted of one digit, and the memories came flooding back to her in a rush, quickly, without heed or warning.

_"Logan Huntzberger!" a five year old Rory yelled as she ran down the hallway, forgetting Mrs. Huntzberger specifically telling her not to run down the hallway. In her five-year old daze of finding what she was looking for, she tripped over her black shiny Mary Janes, and she tumbled to the floor in a pile of frills and lace, courtesy of Lorelai. _

_A blonde head poked out of a doorway, his eyes only visible behind the woodwork, a small smile on his face as he watched his friend try to stand up. He walked to where she was, pulling on her hands to help her up. She wiped her few tears away with the back of her hand. _

Rory remembered that moment perfectly. She had known that he would be there to help her up, always, no matter what. She didn't know then how uncertain everything was in her life, how often things changed. She was only five years old, but now she more than knew better.

They had then proceeded to go into his room and five-year old Logan showed her his "guys", the little action figures that he had gotten for his recent birthday from some distant relative. He had them involved in an all out war, and Rory just sat and watched.

She was pulled out of her reverie when he stopped in front of a door, his door. He pushed it open and she followed him inside, running a stray finger along his mahogany dresser, easing her palm around knick knacks that were placed randomly on the top; tennis trophies, a picture frame of him with Finn and Colin, and about a thousand other little nothings.

"So this is how the other half lives," she murmured, taking in his perfectly kept room. She walked to the window, and sure enough, there was her window in plain view, her light off, curtains pulled half open.

There was a king sized bed pushed up against a wall with a navy blue comforter and a desk in a far corner. Her eyes flitted over doors to what were probably a closet and a bathroom.

He laughed lightly, "It's not as if your room is lacking in anything."

"I never said it was. I just…it's homier than I thought. All the pictures and stuff, it's not what I expected."

He didn't answer, but just pulled a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt out of a drawer of his dresser, handing them to her, motioning to a door on the right. "You can change in there, if you want."

She walked by and his arm reached out to touch hers, looking at her. "You're okay, right? I mean, you would tell me if you weren't?"

She smiled, reaching up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Yes. I'm fine. It's a little weird; he's never done that before, but I'll live." She looked to the door and back to him, pursing her lips. "I'm gonna change."

When she came back out, he was already laying in bed, on the left side. "I can sleep on the floor," she said. "If you give me a blanket and pillow," she added, a small smile pulling at the edges of her mouth.

He rolled his eyes, "You aren't sleeping on the floor, Rory. My bed is big enough for you, easily."

She walked around to the other side. "Alright," she said, pulling down the heavy comforter, climbing into the inviting bed and laying down. "No funny business," she teased.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She folded an arm under her head as she lay on her side, watching his face as he quickly fell asleep. While she expected to fall asleep soon, too, it was something that didn't come.

How quickly they had changed, going from almost complete strangers to being so close, almost able to read each other's simplest facial reactions, reading into words what was really meant.

She rolled over to face the window and sighed, knowing sleep wouldn't come.


End file.
